You never kill the spiders in your home, you just whisper today you, tomorrow me

when you set them outside. Now, in your most dire moment, an army of spiders
arrives to have your back.

"Why don't you just kill them?"

"Because they're living creatures, Lindsay. You ask me that every ti�"

"Oh shut up," she rolled her eyes, cutting him off. He sighed as he opened the door
to the backyard. The moon was full but barely visible through the clouds. He knelt
in the grass and whispered, "Today you, tomorrow me." The spider leapt from his
palm and disappeared into the darkness. He crouched there for a minute, wishing
that he too could disappear into the darkness. He just didn't have the strength to
leave.

No one believed that she had given him his scars, they didn't want to believe. He
saw it in their eyes. They would laugh, mock him, shrugging it off, waving their
hands, shaking their head as if to rid their ears of the words. He didn't tell many
people, a coworker, a guy from the gym, his brother, and his best friends from
school. The disregard for his confession hurt more than a book to the head or a
fork to the arm ever could. But nothing hurt more than her betrayal. Every apology
was a glimmer of hope that the woman he'd fallen in love with would return. Every
insult she spat and object she hurled made him wonder if she was ever there, or if
it had all been a dream.

He stood up slowly and turned to go into the house. If I were more understanding,
more giving, patient, she'd remember what we had and come back, he thought. He'd
had thousands of similar thoughts. He was a fixer. Maybe he could fix it. Fix
himself, fix her, fix them. Deep down he knew he couldn't, but his hope and her
blame kept him tied there. He'd tried counselors. He went alone when she'd refused
to go. And when she insisted that he stop, that the counselor was driving them
apart, he'd stopped. He shook his head, disappointed in himself again. "Honey," he
said opening the door, "what do you think about trying to see Dr. Smith again?"
WHACK He heard the sound of glass shattering, but he didn't know what had hit him.
He struggled to get up, but something else hit him. And he went down again.
"Lindsay, please..." He looked up to see her looming over him, his old baseball bat
in her hands, and he put his arms up to protect his face as she swung at him over
and over and over and then she was shrieking.

"What is that??? scream Get them off!!! GET THEM OFF!!!" He lifted his head to see
his wife being swept out the back door in a wave of blackness. He thought he was
hallucinating. His head was throbbing, bleeding as he struggled to get up. Leaning
against the back door he watched as she disappeared into the woods, her scream
echoing. "Lindsay!" he called after her, attempting to follow, but he collapsed in
the doorway.

The next morning he woke up on the couch. He groaned, eyes adjusting to the early
morning light. The room filled with evidence of the night's events but Lindsay
wasn't there. He started to sit up to look for when he noticed a black rectangle on
the wall. It looked like it was moving. Slowly, the blackness shifted, forming the
words: "Yesterday us, today you."